THE sun, whom Grecians Helms call, <br /> <br />His heavenly path with pride doth tread, <br />And, to subdue the world's wide all, <br /> <br />Looks round, beneath him, high o'er head. <br /> <br />He sees the fairest goddess pine, <br /> <br />Heaven's child, the daughter of the clouds,-- <br />For her alone he seems to shine; <br /> <br />In trembling grief his form he shrouds, <br /> <br />Careless for all the realms of bliss,-- <br /> <br />Her streaming tears more swiftly flow: <br />For every pearl he gives a kiss, <br /> <br />And changeth into joy her woe. <br /> <br />She gazeth upward fixedly, <br /> <br />And deeply feels his glance of might, <br />While, stamped with his own effigy, <br /> <br />Each pearl would range itself aright. <br /> <br />Thus wreath'd with bows, with hues thus grac'd, <br /> <br />With gladness beams her face so fair, <br />While he, to meet her, maketh haste, <br /> <br />And yet, alas! can reach her ne'er. <br /> <br />So, by the harsh decree of Fate, <br /> <br />Thou modest from me, dearest one; <br />And were I Helms e'en, the Great, <br /> <br />What would avail his chariot-throne?<br /><br />Johann Wolfgang von Goethe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/book-of-suleika-the-sublime-type/
